


The Rules

by Arya_Greenleaf



Series: Huxloween & (K)inktober 2016 [3]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Kissing, M/M, Meta Horror, Public Blow Jobs, Strip Tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 09:17:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8199728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: The rules of scary movies are simple: don't answer the phone or go in the basement, carry extra batteries for your flashlight, charge your phone before you leave the house, and don't have sex. Armitage and Ben seem to have a flagrant disregard for those rules and it might just get them into trouble.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Have some more modern AU Ben/Armie and a [(K)inktober/Huxloween prompt fill!](http://avaahren.tumblr.com/post/151128365869/kawaiiloren-ivanhoenineteenninetyfour) Let's see if we can cram _collect, public, meta horror_ into one fic and have it make slightly more than a lick of sense. Have a movie-theater blow job for your troubles. 
> 
> Semi-spoilery warning about the "collect" part of the prompt in the end notes.

"Ben, I don't understand why you want to see this crap."

"It's not crap, 'Tige." Ben paused, swiping his card through the self-service machine and ripping their tickets off when it spat them out. "Okay, it is crap. But it's the kind that's so terrible that it's good. Might even make that stone in your chest beat a little faster."

"I don't understand how this movie has stayed this popular. Why can't you just watch it on television? Doesn't the sci-fi channel marathon them or something?"

"It's about the experience." Ben leaned close, waiting on line for popcorn. "Big, dark theater... everyone else around you riding the edge." Armitage watched him out of the corner of his eye. " _Tsst tsst tsst tss ah ah ha—AH!"_ Ben grabbed his waist, startling him and making him jump.

"Ben!" Hux twisted out of his grip, Ben holding in laughter. "You're such... you're such a  _nerfherder_."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He rubbed his eyes, teary with amusement.

Armitage ignored it, "Is that even the right sound effect? I thought we were seeing the one with the guy in the mask."

Ben controlled himself, "They’re all guys in masks." He turned his smile, wide and bright, on the young man behind the concession stand and accepted a ludicrously sized bucket of popcorn. "And two blue milkshakes."

"Coming up," he flipped his pastel-colored braid over his shoulder and turned toward the dispenser.

Armitage watched Ben as they waited for their order, the latter picking popcorn off of the top of their bucket, the salt sticking to his lips. He licked them, eyes on the concession worker. "Careful, Ben. I might be the jealous type."

"Huh?"

"You're ogling."

"No, I'm not." He tapped the edge of his card against the glass counter, cornered. "Why would I ogle when I've got you?"

"Ben."

"He just looks familiar, that's all. I can't place it." He grabbed another bit of popcorn and paused before shoving it in his mouth. "Maybe from another life. A galaxy far, far away."

"Can we not? It's bad enough I'm here seeing this nonsense. I've no desire discuss your theories on space and time as well."

Armed with their shakes, they made their way into the theater. Ben loped toward the middle of the house, a few other groups dispersed in the general area, prime real estate for the full effect of the surround-sound. Armitage cleared his throat, straw clenched between his teeth. Ben turned, gesturing emphatically toward the pair of seats he was standing beside. Hux switched his shake from one hand to the other and pointed at an empty row in the shadowy corner of the back of the house.

"Why all the way back here?"

"I'd rather not spend the whole time listening to everyone else crunching and slurping." Ben shrugged and relented with little argument.

Armitage discovered he was enjoying the dated film in spite of himself and hoping that the scream-queen heroine made it through to the end. There were a handful of sequels--she must, he reasoned. Popcorn long since finished, most of it gone before the previews were even over, there wasn't much to distract Hux from being absorbed by the drama playing out on the screen.

"'Tige," Ben whispered. He jumped, caught up in a moment of suspense. Ben stifled a laugh and earned a nasty glance from someone sitting several rows up. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Yes, believe it or not. Now, hush."

"I think you could be enjoying yourself a little more, don't you?"

"Yes, I could if you were quiet." On the screen, an older man was discussing the masked killer's psychology, how madness had touched him as a child and he’d believed at one point in trying to free him but had realized that it would never be safe.

Ben carefully set the empty popcorn bucket on the floor, silent as possible, and put his drink into the holder on the far side of him. He nudged Hux's elbow off of the rest between them and leaned across it.

"Ben, stop, your lips are buttery. You're getting it... you're getting it all over." Ben ignored his protest, scraping his teeth playfully over the curve of his mandible and sucking an earlobe between his lips. "Ben, _knock it off_.” Armitage plucked a napkin from the stack tucked into the holder beside his cup and shoved it in Ben’s face. He swiped at his jaw and ear with another, “You’re the one that had to see this, so _watch._ ”

Armitage settled back into his seat, Ben still leaning close, and tried to focus on the action once again. He frowned, recognizing the scream-queen from elsewhere—older perhaps?—and not quite being able to remember. He could distinctly picture her ripping the frills off of a black dress and dumping water from a vase over her head. Hux gasped, the sound swallowed in the collective shock of the others in the theater. “Ben!”

“Mm?”

“ _Kriff_.” He tipped his head, pressing his temple to Ben’s, a large hand squeezing at him through his cords.

“Sorry, I’m distracting you again.”

“Don’t stop.” He met Ben’s mischievous gaze in the glow of the screen. Ben dipped his face down, catching Hux’s lips in a salty, buttery kiss. The soundtrack grew discordant, an electronic clash as the heroine moved through a dark house and eased past closed doors. Ben stroked him, the warmth of his hand and the friction of his shorts and pants working Armitage up quickly. He turned his attention back to the movie, his own mildly distressed vocalization covered by the heroine’s scream as a body swung out at her from the tight nook of a closet.

The cool, conditioned air was a shock against his bare skin as Ben quietly unzipped the cords and shifted in his seat. He continued to stroke and Hux’s heartbeat ratcheted skyward in suspense. The body count and the heroine’s anxiety rose.

“What are you— _oh!”_

The heroine toppled down the stairs and Ben slipped onto his knees, mouth closing over the head of Hux’s cock.

“Oh, god!” Theater-goers startled as the killer steadily followed the heroine out of the house and she frantically tried to get a neighbor’s attention. She pounded on the door and the audience shouted at the screen for someone to open up.

Armitage fought to remain still, his knees rising and his toes planted on the floor. He pressed his lips shut and fisted his fingers tightly in Ben’s hair. “Oh… _oh!”_ The heroine was finally inside the house. She sent the boy who answered away and turned out the lights, desperately trying to get a response on the phone until she noticed the open window.

Armitage drew in a shaky breath, an otherworldly feeling washing over him.

This wasn’t Ben’s bed. It wasn’t even a little used supply closet in a department with largely unoccupied offices or a locked bathroom at a cliché warehouse party in Bushwick. They were in a room full of people, a busy cinema on a sunny Sunday afternoon. The center aisle and swinging double doors were just feet away to their left and the nearest couple just two rows in front.

“ _Hnnghh, Beh-ehn_ ,” he hissed. Someone could notice—they could be thrown out—arrested, maybe—public indecency. Armitage flushed hot and red from the tips of his ears down into the collar of his Aran. The smooth wetness of Ben’s tongue pulled away, hard palate gave way to soft. “Ah!” Suddenly Ben’s nose was against his pelvis and it was all too much. Armitage pushed his hips down into his seat, trying and failing to get away— _get away—_ before he came. Ben choked and Hux shouted. The heroine on the screen plunged a knitting needle into the killer’s neck and collapsed.

Sweat broke out on Hux’s forehead. “Ben!” he whispered frantically. Ben looked up at him, eyes and teeth eerie in the half-light of the reel. Panic settled in his chest as someone in front peered over their shoulder with wide eyes and an open mouth. “Fuck! Ben _get up_.” He grinned, the pink tip of his tongue running between the seam of his lips and swiping over the corner of his mouth.

Ben settled back into his seat, big hand comming up to cradle the back of Hux’s skull while he kissed him softly. Hux grimaced, disliking the taste of himself laced with table-salt and artificial butter. Ben snagged a napkin from their supply and Hux hissed, overly sensitive as Ben haphazardly cleaned him up and dropped the napkin into empty popcorn bucket along with those they’d used to clean their hands. He tucked himself away quickly, wiggling in his seat and willing his heartrate to calm.

Ben sat back with a satisfied smirk and resumed sipping his half-melted shake.

Armitage sat stiffly on the 2-Train when their movie let out watching the tall, imposing man who was holding onto the top rail as the train swayed. He was sure the man wouldn’t need it if he let go, like some other-worldly power would hold him upright even as the train took a sharp curve. The man turned as if feeling Hux’s gaze and pushed down the hood of his long coat to reveal a scar that bisected his face on the diagonal. He narrowed his eyes, daring Armitage to look away, the cloudy left one more unsettling that the scarring and strangely handsome inspite of it. The man departed at the next stop, watching Armitage closely as he passed, coat brushing his knee.

“Ben that was—“ _Wonderful. Exciting. Dangerous. Exhilarating. Hot._ ”Foolish.” He crossed his legs and sat back, running his hands through his hair and dropping them into his lap.

“You loved it. I know it.”

“How can you know that? I was terrified.”

One side of Ben’s mouth curled into a smile. “You think pretty loudly when you want to.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Ben shrugged and sank down in his seat, cocksure expression settled firmly over his features.

Two buses and a ten minute stroll brought them to the Hux Family’s front door. “The Commandant and his wife—“

“Your parents?”

Armitage cleared his throat and slipped his key in the lock. “The _Commandant_ and his _wife_ —are away until Tuesday.” He pushed the door open and flicked on the light in the front vestibule. “You could… you could stay if you liked. For the night, I mean, not just dinner. Since they’re away. I wouldn’t have to send you packing at the stroke of nine.”

“’Tige, you’re twenty-something. You’re studying for a Masters. You intern at one of the top law offices in the city. Do you have to ask permission for a sleep-over?”

“The Commandant has rules.” He kicked off his shoes and moved further into the house, leaving Ben to stand there or follow. “Not all of us experience the freedoms of adulthood the same way that you do. Are you staying or not?”

Thunder cracked overhead, making the pair of them jump.

“Staying. Did you hear anything about storm?”

“No. We should order dinner before it gets too bad. Kessel Run alright?”

Ben nodded, padding after Hux in socked feet. Dinner on its way, they settled at the kitchen counter, a glass of soft pink wine in front of each. “So do I get the nickel tour?”

“Oh, of course.” Armitage picked up his glass and motioned for Ben to follow. “This way.”

He took Ben through the dining and living rooms, pointed out the small parlor that looked out over the backyard. As they climbed the stairs to the second floor Ben halted him with a hand around his arm. “Your parents? I don’t think I’ve ever seen them.”

Armitage looked at the stiff family portrait they were poised beside. “Yes. That’s the Commandant.”

“Your dad.”

“Yes, my father.”

“And your mom. You don’t look much like either of them, though.” Ben grinned and reached out to ruffle Armitage’s artfully messy coif only to have his hand batted away.

“The Commandant’s wife is not my mother.”

“Oh—I—I’m sorry. ‘Tige, I didn’t—“

“I don’t know my mother. I’ve only ever known _her,_ but that’s hardly a substitution.”

“Did she—“

“I have no idea. The Commandant is not forthcoming with information.”

“’Tige, you—“

“Come on, bedroom’s this way. I’ve got my own en suite, so no need to see anything else up here.”

“Alright.”

Armitage stood in the center of his bedroom with his hands on his hips. Everything was precisely in its place from the furniture to the bedding to the minimalistic decoration on the wall. Burgundy bedding looked lush on the dark four-poster made of clean lines and without a canopy overhead. The only lack of order was in the workspace. Armitage’s desk was littered with textbooks and manuscripts and notebooks bursting with sticky-notes and colorful tabs. A clear marking board the likes of which Ben had only ever seen in stylized crime procedurals was covered in uniform lettering and identical boxes, some lines checked and others still open tasks.

Armitage sighed with Ben’s arms encircling his waist and chin resting on his shoulder. He reached back to scritch his fingers through Ben’s hair with absent-minded affection.

“This is the end of the tour.”

“I noticed.”

“Worth your nickel?”

“Mhm.” Hux rested his hands on top of Ben’s, relaxing by degrees. Ben’s thumb stroked over his own. “This is a big deal, isn’t it?”

“You being here? Hardly. You’re not the first boy I’ve had in my bed.” Hux raised a cruel brow. “Did you think you were special?”

Ben snorted, taking the jab for the concealed affection it was. Armitage didn’t let his guard down to joke with many. “No, this—your tattoo.” He traced his nail across the black lines running across Hux’s thumb below the knuckle. “Against the Commandant’s rules?”

“Absolutely.”

“I thought it was just a fashion statement.”

“Much more than that.”

“So what is it?”

“Woke up the day I turned eighteen and marched myself to the tattoo parlor. I’d been researching it for months, not that what I wanted was complicated, obviously.”

“Gotta make sure it’s clean, someone there capable of drawing a straight line. I get it.”

Armitage nodded and continued. “Less fashion statement and more declaration of war.”

Ben snorted. “It fits your aesthetic.” He gestured to the room at large with a jerk of his chin.

“I suppose. Most of this is the Commandant. Nothing comes into the house that doesn’t meet his approval. Some of it is me, though.”

“So what do they mean?”

“Hmm? Oh, these?” Armitage stuck out his thumb, ready to hitchhike. “They’re General’s bars. Something _he’ll_ never be. Saying that no one is in charge of me but me. It’s childish, really. Very _eighteen_. Commandant nearly threw me out of the house.” Armitage sneered, “Dramatic.”

“I think it’s kind of romantic.”

“You’re a sap.”

“A sap who gives good head.”

“That too.”

“Think that bed has enough room?”

“It better. Otherwise you’re camping on the floor.” Armitage grinned and twisted in Ben’s arms, walking backward toward the bed. He flopped back, pulling Ben with him. “I think we’ll manage.” They kissed, long and slow. The wine was already buzzing at the ends of Hux’s nerves, lighting him up and dulling everything else down.

“This is the most comfortable fucking bed I have ever been in.”

Hux snorted. “I’m glad you approve. I owe you a—“

“ _Fuck_ what the hell is _that_?” Ben sat up, mild horror on his face as he pointed across the room. A highly polished glass case sat on the wall beside the door, its shelves filled with skulls of all shapes and sizes.

“I collect them.”

“You collect _skulls_.”

“Yes. Vintage medical specimens, mostly. There’s an antique place in Manhattan that gets them in quite often. We went there once, don’t you remember? Obscura?”

“Yeah, but—I didn’t know you were buying _skulls_.”

“Yes.”

“I thought you were looking for a book or something. I wasn’t paying too much attention after that sideshow girl came in. Are they all real?” Ben slid off the bed and approached the case. “Human?” He looked back at Armitage, expression unreadable.

“I—no. There’s a cat there, a few other smaller animals. It was part of a full articulation but the other bones weren’t in great condition. I call her Millicent. Some of them are very accurate plaster casts—teaching models. They come apart so you can see all twenty-two bones.”

“What is _that?_ ” Ben pointed to one with an oblong cranium and overly large orbits.

“That’s plaster. Supposed to be an alien species. I just thought it was amusing. Kind of like a Fiji mermaid, a curiosity.”

“Huh.”

“You’re going to run screaming back to the bus stop now, aren’t you?”

Ben looked at the case, scrutinizing each piece. “No. I’m just more of an _ashes of my enemies_ kind of guy.” He grinned and Hux rolled his eyes. “It’s cool, ‘Tige. Interesting.” He leaned in for another kiss. “You just kind of keep surprising me.”

The ringing doorbell jolted the pair of them out of their skins. Ben erupted into nervous laughter and followed Hux out of the room and down the stairs.

In the kitchen, they sat at the counter and plowed their way through the mountain of food they’d ordered. Armitage sighed, sucking wetly on his thumb for the last remnants of spice on his skin. “We never get take-out.”

Ben laughed. “We get take-out all the time. The reading room in Philo has more menus than books at this point.”

“No, I mean here, home. We never order out. I feel like I’m doing something naughty.”

“More naughty than these, General?” Ben picked up his left hand from the counter, lips brushing against Hux’s skin.

“Oddly enough, yes.” Containers hidden away in the recycling bin under the sink, wine glasses deposited in the dishwasher, and hands cleaned, Armitage stood awkwardly beside the counter. “What do you want to do?” He flinched as a loud clap of thunder vibrated through the house. The lights flickered. “I’ve got Netflix upstairs.”

They padded through the house, quiet except for the sounds of the storm and the heavy tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the living room. Armitage scowled at the family portrait as they passed it on the stairs and moved a little quicker.

“The girl from the movie—she was in something else.”

“Jamie Lee Curtis is a living legend, ‘Tige, you’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

“I think… She was a spy? Something like that. Short hair.”

“With the Terminator?”

“The one with the accent?”

“You say that as if you _don’t_ have an accent.”

“You’ve got an accent, I don’t.”

“You’re in America, bub, you’ve got an accent.”

Armitage scoffed, “Yes, with the Terminator.”

“ _True Lies_.”

“Ah-ha! I knew I wasn’t imagining it.”

“You wanna watch that?”

“Maybe.” Armitage led Ben back to the bedroom and gestured around, “Make yourself at home.” He busied himself with the television cabinet on the wall, sleek and modern, while Ben stripped his top layers away. Armitage turned around, remote in hand. “Well that’s just not fair.” Ben grinned and stretched out across the bed, muscles shifting under an undershirt like a second skin and bare toes flexing.

“You gonna dance?”

“Excuse me?”

“Thought maybe that’s why you were asking about Jamie Lee.”

Armitage frowned, “I—“

“Please?”

“Ben, don’t be ridiculous. I’d look foolish. I couldn’t dance if I tried.”

“Spoil sport.”

Armitage tossed the remote onto the bed and turned on his heel, headed for the en suite bathroom. “Ridiculous.”

He stood in the bathroom for several moments after he was finished, gripping the counter and staring hard at his reflection. Inviting Ben for dinner after their movie had been a terrible idea. Inviting him to stay was even worse. It had done nothing but make Armitage feel awkward and inadequate. Ben was so easy in his freedom, moving through the world with little care, like a stream through boulders, every so often making the rocks change their direction instead. Armitage was trapped under the Commandant’s thumb, forced to abide by silly rules and strict proprieties lest he stop funding Armitage’s studies.

The television hummed softly on the other side of the wall, the dialogue too low to tell what it was that Ben had settled on.

He looked down at his hands, at the tattoo on his thumb. “Ridiculous.”

He turned the faucet on and cupped his hands under the stream to wet them. He looked at himself haughtily in the mirror and ran his hands over his hair, wetting it until it turned to burnished copper and smoothing it back. “Absolutely ridiculous.”

Ben sat up straight, his breath catching when Armitage came back into the room. “’Tige—“ his voice was tight and reedy.

“Don’t! Don’t say anything. Just keep that giant mouth of yours _shut_.”

Ben bit his lip and nodded, “Yes, sir, General, sir.”

Armitage looked around, cheeks burning bright and hands awkward at his sides.

“Well?”

“What did I say?” he snapped.

He took a shuddering breath and started to move, feeling silly swiveling his hips around in cords and a cabled sweater. He turned, rolling his back and leading with his hips, yanking the sweater over his head in the most sensual way he could manage. He smoothed his hands down his torso after dropping the sweater, pushing his cords as far down on his hips as his belt would allow. Arms up over his head he turned again, startled at the open, hungry way Ben was watching him. For want of distraction, he pulled his undershirt off and dropped that as well. Ben pushed his hands back through his own hair and Armitage mimicked the gesture, circling his hips in figure eights that brought him onto his toes at the farthest point of the curve.

“’Tige—“

“Shh.”

Armitage brushed his hands over his stomach and chest, mind racing to figure out what to do next, he couldn’t just stand there like he was playing with an invisible hoola-hoop all night. He breathed in sharp through his nose, palms rubbing hard against sensitive nipples, and reached out for the nearest bed post. He leaned back, sucking his stomach in hard and rolling his hips back an up, bending his knees and slowly straightening them again. He looked down at himself, admiring the way the lights carved shadows into the hollows of his bones and the jut of his hips over the top of his belt. Ben slid forward on the bed, moving closer.

Thunder clapped, lightning filling the room with blue-hot light, and the power cut out.

“Ah!” Armitage lost his grip and crumpled to the floor in a heap, leaning too far back to stop himself from falling. “Fuck!”

The lights came back on, flickering. Ben was hanging over the side of the bed, an awed look on his face. “You need help?”

“Please.” Ben slipped off the bed and helped him to his feet. “This storm is insane it came out of no—“ Ben cut him off, lips urgent against his. Armitage pulled away, a wet lock of hair curling against his temple and sticking to his eyelashes. “Ben, don’t. I feel like an idiot.”

Ben kissed him softly again, “I didn’t think so.”

“Yes, well, perhaps later.”

“I can be satisfied with later.” Ben grinned, stealing another kiss.

The rain pounded harder, the steady plink of it against the windows drowning out the television. They’d long since abandoned any attempt to watch it, trying to keep the volume at a tolerable level against the storm too much effort. They sat cross-legged on the bed, one of Armitage’s collection between them in pieces.

“But if you don’t have proper calcium in your diet during juvenile development, you can develop extra bones at your suture lines—wormian bones.” He popped the hook open that held the occipital and parietal bones together and spread them out on the bed. “See, here, they’re modeled.” Ben took the halves of the skull from Hux’s hands, fingers smoothing over the bumpy edges of the sutures. Armitage jumped, the tone of Ben’s ringing cell phone the same shrill piano from the movie they’d been to see. “Really?”

Ben laughed, “I’ll be right back. It’s my mom.”

Armitage watched him go, his conversation muffled by distance in the hall. He put the pieces of the plaster skull back together and slid out of bed, going to replace it in the cabinet. The lights overhead dimmed and flared before going out completely. He waited a moment, expecting them to come back on. “Ben?” He felt his way to the door on muscle memory. “Ben?” There wasn’t a sound in the hall. “Ben Solo where the fuck did you go?”

Armitage huffed in annoyance and moved carefully back into the bedroom. His phone was glowing on his desk, a notification that the charging had been disrupted across the screen. He used the glow from the phone to search through the top drawer of his night stand. Finding the flashlight he kept there, he flicked the button repeatedly. “Dammit.” He shook it, a futile attempt to will the light to work before tossing it back in the drawer. “Alright then, we’ll do it this way.” He flicked though the settings on his phone to turn the flashlight application on and moved into the hall. Ben wasn’t there and not on the stairs. “Ben!”

Armitage took the stairs two at a time, his heartbeat thudding heavily in his chest. At the bottom, thunder cracked somewhere outside again, much closer than the last one. He jumped, startled by the volume of it. “Ben!”

His phone beeped loudly, the flashlight turning off on its own. _LOW BATTERY PLUG IN TO CONTINUE USE._

“Perfect.” The screen dimmed and went black. “Ben where are you?” In the living room, he peeked out the curtains. It appeared the entire block was dark. At the very least he wasn’t alone. “Ben! I’m going downstairs!”

He’d check the fuses, just in case, and find another flashlight while he was there—maybe a lantern, he could remember seeing one ages ago if he could just remember _where_. “Ben?”

Armitage stopped dead in his tracks, hand on the basement door just beside the kitchen. He held his breath as cutlery shifted. The single squeaky bit of floor in the entire house, right in front of the sink, echoed under the blanket of the storm. Light flashed, reflected against the stainless steel sink. Armitage stepped back slowly, pressing himself against the wall. The music from the movie rang out in his head as he slid, the texture of the wallpaper under his fingertips oddly comforting. He felt his way toward the front vestibule and fumbled in the darkness at the umbrella stand. The handle of one gripped tight in both fists, he moved back into the main hall. Light flashed against the floor, footsteps slapping against granite tile.

Armitage raised his arms, imitating the stance of the ball players Ben watched on television some Sundays after he’d spent time at home with his father. He took a deep breath and swung.

“Ah! Fuck! ‘Tige! What the fuck!” The umbrella flew out of his hands, yanked by the intruder in the dark. Something fell to the floor and rolled, hitting his toes. Armitage shouted as loudly as he could muster when big hands gripped his shoulders. “It’s me! ‘Tige, it’s me!”

The bright light of Ben’s cellphone provided harsh illumination between them.

“What the _hell_ are you doing down here skulking around in the dark? I thought you were—“

Ben laughed. “I guess you were a little more into that movie than I thought.”

“Brat!” Armitage twisted away, stumbling against the wall in the darkness.

“I was sitting on the steps when the lights went out and told mom I had to go, conserve my battery. I remembered seeing some candles in the kitchen so I went to get them.” Ben directed the arc of light from his phone onto the floor where the candles and a box of matches were scattered. “Oh my _god_ , ‘Tige, I wish you could see your face.” He laughed, full-bellied and warm.

“Yes, well.” Armitage bent down and snatched the candles and matches off the floor. “See if you get to spend the night in the most comfortable bed ever, then.” He stormed away, bumping into furniture as he went and grumbling about how insufferable some people could be.

**Author's Note:**

> [Follow the madness over here.](avaahren.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Hux collects skulls, surprise surprise. But he obtains them by ethical/legal means and they are not, in fact, those of his enemies. He has a feline specimen that he calls Millicent.
> 
> Did you catch the potpourri of references? Eh? Eh?


End file.
